


[We'll] Know Better Next Time

by Reirachan



Category: Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead - Stoppard, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead (1990) RPF
Genre: Bittersweet, M/M, Rosencrantz-centric, written at 1am im not sure its really good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:39:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3433265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reirachan/pseuds/Reirachan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rope against his neck is raspy, like nails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	[We'll] Know Better Next Time

_Try a Thousand and Forty Two_

He has no idea why Guildenstern always forgets.

Or rather, he has no idea _how_ Guildenstern always forgets. Rosencrantz can’t fathom for the life of him how that’s possible – he can still remember, as he regains his breathing for the first time, the horrible clutching of his throat as he tries to choke back tears and not suffocate at the same time. He can remember the rope around his neck – rather unpleasant, really, and raspy, like nails. Maybe it’s because Guildenstern can’t stand it, he muses. Maybe his mind blocks all of his memories as a way of protection. Guildenstern is one of these people who can’t stand anything getting out of their control. It’s impossible he’s forgetting naturally – no, he sees his hysteria – and truly, maybe it’s better this way. He doesn’t want Guildenstern to remember this feeling – raspy, so raspy.

He suppresses a sigh and doesn’t open his eyes, taking a little comfort in the circles Guildenstern is tracing on the back of his neck, the way he does when he’s still too sleepy to be embarrassed and thinks Rosencrantz isn’t awake. He can’t tell him, he already knows what happens then. Guildenstern goes crazy, looking at him all the time with those pleading eyes that say – has this happened before? Are we still on this loop? and he can’t do nothing but nod, because this has happened before, and so they just start to run around everywhere they can, looking for an exit. But somehow they always end in the same point, like they’re trapped in a labyrinth in which all ways lead to its centre. And when they see themselves in that boat again, Guildenstern says – with such conviction for a small voice, because that’s the only logical solution his brain can find, keeps trying to find – “maybe it’s because we deserve this,” and it’s like everything shatters.

So he settles with pretending he’s asleep and wrapping his arms a little tighter around him, until the inevitable banging comes. That godawful banging. Rosencrantz may have never loathed a sound so much in his life. He moans. “Christ, no”. He doesn’t care that now he’s resorting to moaning. Maybe if he sounds pitiful enough Guildenstern will spoil him and tell the messenger to go away. Maybe if he presses him a little closer, Guildenstern would decide the best would be to remain sleeping.

But of course he only chuckles, “come on, I’ll go get it,” he says, gently taking Rosencrantz’s arms off him, then getting up – and dressed, oh – and going for the door.

Guildenstern was never one to spoil him, anyway.

-

“You want a bet?” Guildenstern asks once silence has settled upon them for long enough. Usually Rosencrantz doesn’t mind the silence too much, but now it’s always such a horrible thing to be alone with his thoughts. Maybe that’s why Guildenstern is talking all the time, he muses. He’s always been the one who overthinks things.

“Sure,” he says, trying his best to sound casual, and not like he’s at the very edge of hysteria, if anything because he wants to know. “Heads I win,” because considering his luck, maybe this time the odds will finally go against him, and instead of having an awful stream of luck, the coin will just spin like it always does, and everything will go back to normal, and they will have a chance. If he had just a single piece of proof things would be different this time, he’d bail so fast no one would even go looking for them. They could go – and disappear – and get as far away from Hamlet’s affairs as possible, and finally make something of their own.

He spins it, almost hopeful. It lands on heads.

-

“Excuse me,” he says, going after the Player, and he knows it sounds stupid. But maybe if he can buy them some time, if anything to watch a play and forget about themselves a little bit, he can figure out what to do this time. He takes great pleasure in watching Guildenstern go for him – betting to get them the play he wants – and even win. It’s kind of bittersweet, how he uses their little aggravating secret to their advantage.

But maybe Guildenstern can’t stand it – he understands, really, he’s already embarrassed for even talking with this kind of filth – so he says they have to go. Rosencrantz doesn’t even sigh.

It’s not like he’s gonna leave him, anyway.

-

“Both your majesties Might, by the sovereign power you have on us, Put your dread pleasure more into command Than to entreaty.”

He watches as Guildenstern tries to fix it for him, in a more submissive tones so not to trigger their wrath. He doesn’t care, though. It’s already upon them. He can see it in their crowns, looking down at them and reminding him they have the power to decide here. That both of them – both he and Guildenstern – are at their mercy. “But we both obey,” he can still hear Guildenstern say – he’s never been one to think too loudly – “And here give up ourselves in the full bent To lay our service freely at your feet, To be commanded.”

Well, isn’t that true.

-

He waits a minute until they are gone, watching their retreating backs, as indifferent as expected, but he still says it. They’re still honest with each other, after all. That’s one of the things that hasn’t changed. But then again, not much has.

“I want to go home.”

-

He should have gotten used to watch Guildenstern’s hysteria grow, but he isn’t, not at all.

He’s not always like that, really – sure, tilts a bit to the impatient side, overthinks a lot (what they’ve gone through before Guildenstern finally got comfortable feeling that way about him, _christ_ ), sometimes has trouble being completely honest with himself, but he’s never like _that_. Before all that, Rosencrantz can’t remember the last time he was annoyed at him. “Why don’t you go and have a look?!” Because Guildenstern’s babbling is too much, really – so much about theories and windows and possibilities – and he knows that anyway, that’s nothing he can do. Rosencrantz can only watch.

 _That’s it? No fear?_ He remembers Guildenstern asking. Oh, he feels fear all right. But what’s it worth, anyway? – a penny that will keep landing on heads? Maybe he’s been always tilting to this side, too – insecure, going around not sure of himself - but really, what can he do? His guidance has already proven not to be worth much – and maybe he’s going through the same thing, maybe this stressful situation potentializes both of their worsts. Maybe they’re dooming themselves by letting it happen.

And maybe all that time listening to Guildenstern has gotten him to start thinking like him. 

“Pragmatism! Is that all you have to offer?”

“I am merely suggesting,” he says, trying not to start a fight here. That’s not what either of them needs – he should understand – be diplomatic. He knows how Guildenstern works, and it’s not well under pressure. “that the position of the sun, if it’s out, would give you a rough idea of the time. Alternatively, the clock, if it’s going, would give you a rough idea of the position of the sun. I forget which you are trying to establish!”

Guildenstern just keeps staring at him with that aggravated look on his face, proving that maybe he didn’t do so well in the whole keeping-calm-being-diplomatic thing. Then, very quietly, in the way Rosencrantz knows he talks when he doesn’t want to admit he went overboard, “I am trying to establish the direction if the wind.”

Right, he thinks, feeling himself deflate. He wishes he could do as Guildenstern and still look for a solution, really. But he can’t think of anything else – he can only watch. That’s what he does best, anyways, he sees thing – and now al lhe sees is a dead end, of which maybe Guildenstern could make something useful, but he’s pretty sure he can’t. No wonder he’s annoyed – he’s trying. But Rosencrantz knows they’re stuck, ecstatic – maybe time _has_ stopped dead, after all.

“There isn’t any wind.”

-

But of course there is, and it only pushes them one way.

-

“You can’t do death!” Guildenstern shouts, again at the point of losing his mind. It’s depressing to watch, really – sometimes he wishes that, if it has to be that way, at least they could reset a little back in time, when he was still cool and relaxed and would lower his guard enough to smile, when Rosencrantz didn’t get what he was saying, trying to hind it behind his hand; or do him favors – like getting the actors to play for them – and pretending it’s nothing. Or tracing circles on the back of his neck. Now he’s just pure anger – but Rosencrantz understands, really, because he knows why.

Because the Player most definitely can, and they both know that.

-

It’s not like he wants to die, not really – he’s pretty sure it’s an awful feeling. Not being able to do anything – trapped in your own body – detached from everything. Now that he thinks of it, he knows it’s an awful feeling. But he’s not precisely dead – maybe death would be better than this – maybe then he wouldn’t recognise the feeling – but wouldn’t that make him like Guildenstern? No, he’s pretty sure neither of them are dead – and he doesn’t want them to be. He just wishes they’d be alive, that’s all – he’s sure life doesn’t feel like this, he remembers it. He just wishes that they could stop going through this every time, that maybe they could go on and start a life – a life of their own – at their command. But maybe there is no such option. Maybe this is just some kind of limbo they’re both stuck on until they make their minds – decide to stay or to go. Maybe this is a point between life and death, and he has to choose.

What would he choose? He muses for a second. He doesn’t know what being dead’s like. How would it feel – would it be very different from this? More definitive, maybe, but isn’t it also eternal? What would it be like, to know there isn’t anything else before, to put an end to things? Maybe better – but he doesn’t want to die. But maybe death is the feeling he wants. If it’s a feeling.

“Do you ever think of yourself as actually dead, lying in a box with a lid on it?”

-

It’s not like everything’s always bad. There’s still much to see, at least. Even if it’s rough, there’s something fascinating about this world – they may be the same, but the world is always a little different, somehow. There’s always something he hasn’t noticed before – like the way the apples fall over his head and things that weight differently will touch the ground at the same time when dropped. Once, he found that some bugs never landed – they didn’t even have paws. Maybe it’s because they live so little that they don’t have time to settle, he thinks. There’s always somewhere they’re going to.

Once, he noticed the earth smells funny on the rain. Another time, he figured how weird it was that the sun would revolve around Earth. And another, he noticed how fitting Guildenstern’s earring looked on him – it was nice, really. He really liked those things.

The world was always brand new.

-

He’s really starting to entertain the idea that maybe they’re dead. Really, at this point, they can’t be sure of anything. It’s not like this is what _life_ is like – he’s pretty sure he remembers what life feels like. The coming of fall – brownness at the edges of senses – the fascination listening to the voice of a teacher, telling Guildenstern the best part of his day – the feeling of smiling – the sensation of boredom when another teacher talks really slowly, and he sends Guildenstern over a paper plane with a note on it – and even as he sends him a disapproving look he answers, and smiles while Rosencrantz reads.

It’s nothing like this. This is just – mechanical – repetition – everything is always the same, isn’t it? How can it be life?

“You can feel, can’t you?”

He looks at Guildenstern, and his heart swells. “Ah,” he says simply, “there’s life in me yet.”

-

“I can’t feel a thing!” He cries, scared. Maybe that’s it, he’s dying – maybe his body is rotting as they stand, and his limbs are going to leave him, and he’ll be still inside it and feel it all. Maybe he really is between life and death after all – and it’s claiming him. He’s got nowhere to go, they’re on a boat, he knows how this ends – in rotting, and that’s how it goes, it’s coming for him. He’s pretty sure Guildenstern can feel his aggravation – well, at least Guildenstern is not rotting too, but he is, and he is going to leave him, and then he will have nowhere to go and finally go crazy in there –

“Give it a pinch!” he can still hear him say, and he does. Immediately Guildenstern yelps.

He freezes for a few seconds, then lets his head fall back in relief. 

-

“I think I’ll spend most of my life on boats,” Guildenstern says.

He tries to suppress a scoff, “very healthy.”

-

“I’m sick of making the running!”

He looks. Blinks. He knows that. Christ, he knows – that he just stands there, doesn’t tell him anything, and follows what he does. He knows, but he can’t really think of anything else – he can’t think of anything original – he’s tried everything at this point. He wishes he could do something – if anything, so Guildenstern wouldn’t go through this – but that’s how it is now. There’s nothing he can think of doing anymore. He tries to hold back a few tears. Christ, they’ve got nothing to go own. He knows nothing works. He _knows_.

“There,” Guildenstern says, suddenly going for him, “it’s all right. I’ll see we’re all right.”

-

The rope around his neck is raspy, like nails.

-

-

_Try a Thousand and Forty Three_

He wakes up startled, like he was drowning. Maybe it’s because he cried this time, he thinks briefly, before looking up at Guildenstern, who is staring at him worried. “Are you all right?” he asks, unsure of what to do, and starting to retreat to give him space – take his arm off him – but Rosencrantz groans, jumps on him, kisses him fiercely, grinds against him. Maybe if he distracts him long enough he won’t go for the door this time, he muses, with a sudden rise of will, and the messenger will leave them alone. Maybe that’s all he has to do – if they keep like this – maybe things will change, maybe it’ll be over. And he pulls a bit on Guildenstern’s hair, the way he knows he likes it, and smiles a little against his lips – 

But the messenger is insistent, and Guildenstern goes to answer it anyway.


End file.
